


Shelter From the Storm

by hgdoghouse



Category: due South
Genre: Family, M/M, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-12
Updated: 2011-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:42:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vecchio takes Fraser home with him</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter From the Storm

While Vecchio remembered there was no point in taking the ride across town too fast it wasn’t in his nature to drive slowly and so he arrived ahead of schedule; Fraser’s shift still had another eleven minutes to run.

Parking illegally outside the Consulate General of Canada, Vecchio shook his head in admiration when he saw the familiar straight-backed, square-shouldered perfection of the uniformed figure. There was gloss enough of the surface of the brown boots to shave by, the shine on the brass buttons undiminished by the polluted air they were subjected to on a daily basis. Given the glamor of the outlandish outfit and the inexplicable affect Fraser had on women, Vecchio couldn’t understand why the other man wasn’t more of a tourist attraction.

“Hey, Fraser,” he called as he left the car, slamming the door shut. Taking a step forward he almost fell over when his body was unable to follow his feet.

“What the - ?” Spinning around, already reached for his gun, he discovered he was being held back by the bottom edge of his overcoat, which had been caught in the car door. Resignation on his face, he backed up, re-opened the door and twitched his coat free with what dignity he could muster.

“Will you look at this?” he moaned as he contorted his body so he could gather up the injured area and assess the damage. “Seven hundred and fifty bucks I pay for this coat and I get oil on it in the first week.” Rubbing the spot with some vigor, he succeeded only in smearing the stain further across the brown wool/cashmere mix. Giving it up as bad job, he gave a resigned shrug.

“Remind me to drop it off at the cleaners on the way home. If it doesn’t clean up nice at least I’ll have something to wear next time you make me rummage through a dumpster.”

A movement caught his eye.

“Hi, Dief! Couldn’t take his apartment any more, huh? I know how you feel.”

Sitting in the shelter of the neatly trimmed bushes to the left of the main entrance, Diefenbaker made a soft sound which Vecchio chose to interpret as a greeting.

“Still, this weather must suit you,” he continued chattily. “It’s gonna snow for sure. Forecasters were predicting a bad storm. The one advantage of that is that the crime rate plummets along with the temperature.”

Stamping his feet in a vain attempt to warm them, he gave the yellow-tinged clouded sky a look of suspicion, as if expecting all the snow predicted for the area to land on him.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time, Benny. What do you do when it rains? I mean, even a Canadian must have sense enough to come in out of the rain. Right?”

The immaculately dressed figure in front of him did not react by so much as a flicker of an eyelid.

“Hey, lighten up, will ya? What’s a few racial slurs between friends. I’ve been looking for a way to use that gag for weeks. You know, it’s a funny thing, but growing up in this city I must’ve heard every racial joke going - Italian jokes, Polish, Jewish, Chinese, Irish, Hispanic, Black, straight, gay, dyke jokes. I’ve heard them all. But never Canadian. Go figure. I mean, other people apart from me must be afflicted with a Canadian in their life, right?

“Oh, I forgot, you can’t talk yet. Far be it from me to criticize, but sometimes I think you take this whole duty thing too seriously.”

His arms wrapped around his chest as he hugged himself for warmth, Vecchio tried running on the spot. Because the activity of running was ineluctably linked to being shot at in his mind, he slowed to a standstill in under a minute. Whistling tunelessly, he moved until he stood shoulder to shoulder with Fraser, examining the scenery the other man faced for at least eight days every day - or that he would see if he wasn’t required to impersonate a statue.

“I never thought to check out the view before,” Vecchio remarked, his tone pensive. “If you can call it that. That’s the trouble with refinement. Dullsville. You could do with a couple of liquor stores. Give you something colorful to watch instead of having to recite poetry all day.

“Jeez, this is boring,” he announced, almost in the same breath. “By my calculation you’ve another four and a half minutes on duty. Damn, but it’s colder than a witch’s tit. You ever wondered why theirs should be colder. Doesn’t make sense to me. I mean, if they can do magic you’d expect them to use it to keep themselves warm. I bet you it’ll start to snow any minute. And my chains are back home instead of in the trunk.”

Tiring of the uninspiring view, Vecchio returned to his former position so that he stood in front of Fraser once more. It was a matter of honor with him not to touch or resort to obvious methods to distract the other man; while he intended to break Benny’s devotion to duty one day, he intended to do it fair and square - or at least without being caught cheating. His sabotage plans received a set-back when the wind blew, cold fingers finding every tiny gap in his clothing.

“This damn Avenue is one gigantic wind-tunnel,” Vecchio stuttered, his eyes tearing up with the cold. He gave Fraser an accusing look. “How come the tip of your nose hasn’t gotten red like normal people’s? Well, like mine. Have you a handkerchief I can use? Only I can’t find mine and I can feel a sneeze -

“Too late,” he said, unnecessarily, three cataclysmic sneezes later. “Sorry about spraying you. I’d wipe it off but people might talk. How come you don’t ever take a chill? Is it a Mountie thing? Or maybe it’s just because of those healthy ten mile strolls you take with Dief.”

His head sunk onto his outstretched paws Diefenbaker briefly raised his eyes to Vecchio before he resume his own private surveillance.

“Now I’ve received the final humiliation - I’ve been snubbed by a wolf,” complained Vecchio. The tip of his nose was glowing like a cherry. “Two minutes left,” he sighed. “You ever noticed how these last few minutes drag? Fraser? Benny?” He put back his head, his arms out flung as he appealed to a higher authority. Fortunately there were no low flying birds to dump their answer on his upturned face.

“See what I have to put up with? And he knows it drives me nuts, yet he still does it. What kind of friend is that. I tell ya, I get more satisfaction from the wolf.” He lowered his arms and glared at the motionless Mountie.

“You figure you could at least blink a response, Benny?” he demanded irritably. He bent to peer under the brim of Fraser’s hat, only to straighten in disgust a few seconds later.

“Damn it, Benny? Who’s going to see you blink?”

He threw out his arms again, narrowly missing hitting an elderly lady, who scuttled by, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on this mad man who talked to statues the whole time.

In full flood by now, Vecchio was unaware of the consternation he had caused. “Even Mounties must have to blink, even if they never lie, sweat, or think impure thoughts. Never mind the fact they never have to go to the john.

“Aha! Almost,” crowed Vecchio with triumph. “You can’t fool me. That was almost a twitch. I’m tellin’ you, Benny. One day...

“At last! Six o’clock on the nail. Freedom! Benny, come on. You frozen into position, is that it? Benny, don’t do this to me,” he cried in anguished disbelief. “Look, if you don’t believe me, the big hand is on... I’m losing my mind,” he mumbled. “It had to happen some day. And I’ll sue the Mounties. I checked my watch was keeping good time only this morning. Well, no, I didn’t, now I think of it. Damn. How much longer, O Lord,” he appealed to the sky.

The first few flakes of snow wafted down onto his upturned face, gentle as frozen kisses.

“See, I told you it would - ” Vecchio broke off to accost a burly man in his mid-forties who was hurrying by.

“Hey, mister! You got the time?”

“If you’ve got the inclination.” Convulsed by his own wit, the man doubled over.

“A comedian yet. Listen, numb brain, when a cop asks you the time, it’s because he wants to know what the fu - ”

A distant clock was chiming the hour. Like magic Fraser came to life, stepping between the two men and frightening the stranger almost to death because he had assumed Fraser was some kind of weird Canadian ornament.

“Nothing to be afraid of, sir. Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police at your service. Good evening, Ray. I don’t believe you need to detain this gentleman any further, do you? Thank you kindly, sir.”

Rolling his eyes, the man left at a lurching jog.

“Who wound you up?” demanded Vecchio, but he wore a happy beam.

“If you were cold why didn’t you remain in the car, Ray?”

Taken aback, Vecchio shuffled his feet and mumbled something.

“I’m sorry, Ray. I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said I wouldn’t feel good about sitting in the warm while you’re freezing your balls off, OK?” His manner dared Fraser to make anything of the admission.

“Oh. I see. I presume by the term ‘balls’ you are referring to my testicles?”

“Excuse me, Raymond,” said a voice from behind him.

Vecchio spun around to find himself nose to nose with an amused looking Father Behan.

“Sorry, Father,” he mumbled, glaring at Fraser as the priest nodded in a friendly fashion before continuing on his way. “Now see what you made me do, talking like that in front of a priest.”

“A priest is also a man, Ray.”

“I know that but there are some things I don’t feel comfortable about mentioning around Father Behan and testicles is one - two - of them. Look, why are we freezing our butts off discussing this here?”

“I am not cold,” said Fraser with truth.

Vecchio shook his head. “Then you should be. It ain’t natural. There again, wolves who have taught themselves to lip-read ain’t exactly thick on the ground. The more I learn about Canadians, the more I wonder about them. Can we go now?”

“Certainly. It is exactly four minutes past six. Your watch is approximately ninety seconds fast.”

“Approximately? You’re losing your edge, Benny my man. Those eleven minutes felt like a lifetime to me. Or do you imagine I get a kick out of talking to myself? What I came round for is... Look, d’you wanna have dinner at my place tonight? Of course you do. I’ll give you a ride.”

“Ray, it’s very kind of your mother to invite me but - ”

“No buts, Benny. She’s been giving me a real hard time. Don’t worry. How bad can it be? Francesca won’t be in - probably,” Vecchio added almost inaudibly as he turned, trying to locate the wolf.

“Dief, in the car. Rear seat, dummy. Since when do you get to ride up front with me when you-know-who is with us? Not that I mind but Benny can be unreasonable about a few things. It saves the hair on the seat, I suppose. Bad enough to have wolf hair all over the rear seat without -

“That’s another thing,” Vecchio broke off to say to Fraser, without pausing to take breath. “How come you don’t get wolf hairs all over your pants?”

“I don’t know, Ray.”

“You mean it isn’t a secret handed down by generation after generation of the Inuit?”

“Not as far as I am aware. Although they did have one reliable method for avoiding wolf hair on their clothing.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Keep away from wolves,” said Fraser, deadpan.

Vecchio gave a theatrical groan. “A word of advice - don’t give up your day job.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“You yanking my chain? Don’t answer that! I’m happier not knowing. Dief! Dief! Where’s that mutt gotten to now?”

“He’s on the rear seat. Where you told him to go,” said Fraser in his most helpful manner.

“I’ll speak to you later,” Vecchio warned him darkly.

Leaning into the back of the car he turned Diefenbaker’s head so that the wolf could see his mouth and held him lightly by the muzzle. “Don’t give me a hard time tonight, OK? And this evening no licking the back of my neck while I’m driving, clear? We were lucky I didn’t hit anything last time. There’s no way I’d be able to make the insurance people believe me.” About to straighten, he bent back down again. “Oh, and if you could see your way clear to sucking up to Ma there’ll be a big bone in it for you.”

Despite the heavily falling snow a couple of passers-by slowed to watch a man talking to the wolf who was lounging on the back seat of a classic Buick Rivera.

“Right, now we’ve got that out the way.” Vecchio stood up in time to realize he was under surveillance. He glared at the couple he caught staring at him.

“What’s your problem? You people never seen a guy talking to a wolf before?” he demanded, aggressive because he was still wired after his three day stretch on duty.

Fraser opened the passenger seat window and stuck his head out of it. “Ray, don’t Americans have the sense to come in out of the snow?”

“What? Why you...” Whatever Vecchio said next was lost as he ran around the car to slide in behind the wheel. He switched the heater to its highest setting.

“Just until my feet thaw out?” he pleaded when he caught Diefenbaker’s eye in the driving mirror.

The wolf whined.

“Compromise, Dief,” Fraser reminded him without turning.

“Attaboy,” approved Vecchio as he eased the car into the rush hour traffic, which had been made all the worse by the weather.

“Did I tell you I finally got the little weasel who’s been doing those break-ins at the old folks’ homes?” Vecchio offered, four blocks down from the Consulate.

“Excellent work, Ray.”

“I thought so,” he agreed immodestly. “Though I have to admit I had a lucky break. The perp. stopped off at...”

Fraser settled back to enjoy the story, which was narrated in Vecchio’s inimitable style. While to a casual observer Fraser might look as if he was sitting to attention, he was more relaxed than he had been all day - despite the obvious disadvantages. The car heater was up too high for comfort and Vecchio’s inclined-to-be-erratic driving was not improved by the worsening road conditions. But there was something wonderfully soothing about the intimacy of sitting in a car with Ray, the warmth of his personality a palpable force.

Vecchio’s recital was interspersed with abuse directed at other road users for real or imagined infringements and asides to Diefenbaker or Fraser on myriad subjects. Fraser had no difficulty in separating out the various strands, offering his own comments as and when required.

Due to the epidemic of ‘flu which had swept the Consulate he had been working double shifts himself. They had allowed him no time to assist Ray in his work and Fraser felt the lack keenly. After seventeen months in Chicago he still missed his homeland but even more than that he missed being able to work as a policeman in an official capacity. While they had never spoken of it, Fraser know that Ray understood this. Sometimes, when he was feeling optimistic, he thought that perhaps even Lieutenant Welsh understood it.

“Jeez, will you take a look at this traffic. It’s lucky we’re not in any hurry,” remarked Vecchio, with the self-deception of a man who fondly believed he was the most patient of men.

Becoming conscious of the loud panting down his right ear he leant forward and switched off the heater. “Satisfied?” he asked, glaring into the driving mirror.

“Thank you, Ray.”

Vecchio spared Fraser a glance. “Did I do it for you? How much longer are you going to be on double shifts? Did they say when you’d be through?”

“Today. I now have a week’s vacation,” added Fraser without enthusiasm. Work, of whatever kind, occupied enough of his time to make life in Chicago supportable.

“You look like you could use it,” said Vecchio frankly. “At least you won’t be missing any interesting cases my end. I have a mountain of reports to complete.”

He lied because in his opinion Fraser and Diefenbaker would benefit from some wide open spaces not linked to freight yards, airports or industrial sites. Though he would miss Fraser’s one hundred words per minute typing skills. But there was an expression in Fraser’s eyes sometimes when he was off-guard that haunted Vecchio - it was like watching a bear in a too small cage.

“You guys should get away from it all,” he remarked casually.

Fraser opened his mouth. About to remind his companion of his lack of finances or transport, he thought the better of it. He knew from experience that Ray would contrive to provide both for him.

The car crawling along at just under nine miles an hour, Vecchio’s hands were cold despite his gloves and his feet had turned into blocks of ice. For all he could feel of it his nose could have been dripping like a leaking faucet. The windows had steamed up, ice forming around the welts, and the wipers could barely keep a clear patch on the windshield; it seemed as if the weather was conspiring to make the interior of the car into a cocoon, locking the three of them together - Benny, Dief and him against the world. It had a good feel to it, he decided, settling back into his seat. A faint optimism began to reflower in him.

Starting to unwind, Vecchio’s fingers moved, tapping out against the steering wheel the tune which had been running through his head all day.

“‘California Dreamin’’ identified Fraser, having paid close attention. “Originally sung by the ‘Mamas and Papas’ in - I cannot remember the precise date - the song enjoyed considerable - ”

“You learnt the missing lines yet?” interrupted Vecchio.

“No.”

“Me neither. ‘All the leaves are brown...’ The hell with it. I’m never gonna remember those damn lyrics. At least we’re moving. If I make a left at the next turning we should be able to avoid the worst of this. It could be a tight squeeze but I figure we can make it.”

Fraser was already reaching for the dashboard as the car spun around at a right angle before it went into a controlled skid. Narrowly missing a water hydrant, the car slid into the narrow alley with the precision of toothpaste being sucked back into its tube. There was barely a couple of inches to spare.

“Way to go!” crowed Vecchio, delighted with himself. “Neat, huh?”

Fraser just looked at him.

“You’ve gotten used to me,” Vecchio remarked with a grin. “Time was, if I didn’t signal before I made a turn you’d sulk for ten minutes.”

“Impossible,” said Fraser with the total confidence he gave to most statements. “Mounties don’t sulk.”

“Is that so? It must be great to be so in control.”

“Oh, it is.”

“Right.”

There was a comfortable interlude during which Vecchio eased the Buick around the back streets while humming ‘Saturday Night Fever’ under his breath. While repeated re-viewings of one of his favorite movies had taught him the lyrics, he had to hum them because he couldn’t achieve the falsetto employed by the Bee Gees.

Although he had never been a particular fan of John Travolta’s - or indeed heard of him until he met Vecchio - Fraser bore up with some fortitude until a nagging concern resurfaced.

“I don’t want to appear unduly suspicious, Ray, but why were you so insistent that I dine at your house tonight?”

The humming stopped. “I’m mortified that you could suspect my motives. Asshole!” Vecchio broke off to yell as a delivery truck broke out of an intersection.

“Isn’t it illegal to drive at night without lights?” enquired Fraser, prepared to do his duty.

“There’s five inches of crud settled out there already, with more coming down. I - correction, we - are not going to chase a perp. through downtown Chicago in a blizzard just because some guy’s got faulty lights. Clear?”

Fraser opened his mouth.

“Clear?”

“Clear,” Fraser confirmed, wondering what lay behind Ray’s braggadocio this time. “About dining with your mother...” he began.

“Don’t you trust me, Benny?”

“Well...”

“Of course you do. I mean - correct me if I’m wrong - but who tried to kill who by drowning them in a bank vault? Did I complain?”

Fraser drew a preparatory breath.

“Save it, Benny. Will you look at that? I should get out and book that guy for dangerous driving.”

“I believe he may have had the right of way, Ray.”

“Yeah? Well, if we weren’t almost there I’d - ”

“Almost where, Ray?”

“My place, of course. Don’t you listen to anything I say?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. I don’t remember agreeing to dine with Mrs Vecchio tonight.”

“It could have only been a matter of time,” dismissed Vecchio in an unconvincing airy tone. “I don’t recall you refusing. Still, if you won’t do this one, small thing for me...” His shoulders slumping, his head went down. His clown’s eyes liquid with sorrow, he was visibly wilting.

From the rear seat Diefenbaker made a soft sound of derision but Fraser folded in under a minute.

“Of course I’ll dine with your mother tonight,” he said into the silence. Honesty prevented him from mentioning enjoyment.

Vecchio brightened immediately. “See? I knew it! I wouldn’t do this to you if I had a choice but I couldn’t stall her any longer. She’s got this idea into her head...” He trailed off into a silence which invited Fraser to inquire further.

Possessing a basic level of self-preservation, Fraser maintained a prudent silence.

Lights from a truck flooded the car, revealing Vecchio’s fatigue now he was too preoccupied to think to cover it.

“What idea is it that Mrs Vecchio has got into her head, Ray?” asked Fraser, entering the trap of his own free will.

His reward was Vecchio’s relieved beam. “Ma figures you’ve been avoiding me since I shot you.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s what I told her. Several times in the months since then. Of course, it doesn’t help that you haven’t been around since before I shot you.” While he was talking, Vecchio drew the car to a halt outside the house he had mortgaged for the sake of the man beside him. “Come on, Benny. Let’s get into the warm.”

Before Vecchio could leave the car Fraser caught hold of his arm. “Ray, are you sure you have thought this through? As you have said yourself, on more than one occasion, I am not a convincing liar.”

“‘Not a convincing liar’?” hooted Vecchio. “Compared to you...” He made a gesture of despair. “Forget it, no one’s as bad as you. You’re unique.”

“Why, thank you, Ray.”

“I give up,” Vecchio muttered. “Do you know how many times that honest streak of yours has come close to killing the pair of us?”

“No, I don’t, Ray.”

“Me neither but I bet it’s been more times than we can count.”

“That being the case, why don’t I walk Dief home and - ”

The wolf complained directly into Fraser’s left ear - and he made no attempt to moderate his volume.

“Way to go, Dief,” cried Vecchio with delight. “I knew he liked me,” he confided to Fraser, only to receive a pitying look.

“You don’t feel it might have anything to do with Mrs Vecchio’s abilities as a cook and her susceptibility where greedy wolves are concerned?”

“Figures,” said Vecchio philosophically. “Won’t you do with one little thing for me?”

“That is emotional blackmail,” noted Fraser with disapproval.

Vecchio ignored it with the ease of long practice. “You bet it is. I’m not proud. Whatever works is my motto. Well?”

Fraser looked pained. “I’ll do it. But I should like to go on record as saying that - ”

“ - you don’t have a good feeling about this,” parroted Vecchio. “What can go wrong? No, don’t answer that. It was a rhetorical - do I mean rhetorical or reticular? - question.”

 

Stiff with nerves Fraser was distantly aware of the over-bright sound of Ray’s voice in the background as he was propelled over the threshold of the house he had comprehensively trashed on his last visit, desperate to find the key Victoria had stashed here. Between Victoria and himself and the brutally thorough search conducted by Internal Affairs the house must have been a terrible mess. He had never mentioned the subject to Vecchio. Wrecking Ray’s home had been the least of his betrayal.

Before his panic led him to retreat back onto the street, Fraser was wrapped in the warm solidity of Mrs Vecchio’s embrace and soundly kissed on both cheeks. Francesca showed every sign of preparing to follow her mother’s example until her brother grabbed hold of her arm.

“I thought you were going out?” Vecchio said to her.

“In a blizzard?” returned Francesca, shaking free the better to square up to the brother who had not lost the habit of trying to protect her - or, what was even more infuriating - believing he knew what was best for her.

“That’s never stopped you in the past,” retorted Vecchio.

“I was sixteen.”

“As if I needed reminding. Do you have any idea of the worry you caused when you - ?”

Recognizing all the signs of the Vecchio siblings settling down for a lengthy bout, Fraser stood by, uneasily aware that he was bound to be sucked into their fight. He jumped when Mrs Vecchio tucked her arm into the crook of his and steered him down the passage.

“You should know to take no notice of those two. It’s good to see you, Benny. It’s been too long. Come into the kitchen. Would you like some mulled wine? Of course you would. It’s not as if it’s real alcohol. More medicinal really.”

“Thank you very kindly, but no.”

Worn down by the offer of every beverage known to his hostess, Fraser accepted a mug of coffee.

“Have you eaten?” continued Mrs Vecchio. “Why am I asking? Of course you haven’t eaten.”

“I’m fine, Mrs Vecchio.”

“After a day at work? I don’t think so. And this the one night you find me with nothing prepared. See, Tony and Maria are staying with his folks until Monday. Frannie has a date - not that he would have been my choice but what can you do? - so, with the evening to myself Mrs Rabinowitz and I had planned a night on the town. And what happens?” Mrs Vecchio paused in gathering up pans to gesture to the window. “A blizzard, that’s what happens.”

“Ray did not mention that everyone would be out,” said Fraser slowly. Ray had lied to him. Mrs Vecchio had not been expecting him this evening. He could not understand why Ray had wanted them to dine at his house tonight - alone.

“Raymondo? What could he tell you? Mrs Rabinowitz and I only decided this afternoon. I meant to ring him but with getting my hair done and... But you don’t want to hear about that. Drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

Fraser took an absent sip and barely prevented himself from grimacing. In the part of his brain that was not puzzling over Ray’s actions he wondered why a woman who was such a good cook should make such terrible coffee.

“I didn’t intend to put you out,” he began, feeling awkward and off-balance.

“Who’s put out?” she dismissed. “Take another cup of coffee if you won’t have a drink. Though you should try some of that mulled wine. It will only take a moment to heat and you look peaky.”

Continuing to sip the appalling coffee, while doing his best to look as if he was enjoying it, Fraser endured a cross-examination about his health which his grandmother could not have bettered. Mrs Vecchio had him out of his uniform jacket and tie in no time at all; only the fact he wore suspenders prevented her from checking the site of the injury for herself.

“I worry about you, Benny. The wound. It gives you no trouble?”

“None, Mrs Vecchio. There is no cause for concern.”

“No cause for concern? When it is my son who shot you!”

“It wasn’t Ray’s fault,” he said flatly, a hint of steel in his voice now. He avoided her gaze because this was the last subject in the world he felt comfortable discussing with Ray’s mother. Or with Ray, for that matter.

“You mean Ray didn’t shoot you? Careless. He’s always been - ”

“Leave it, Ma,” said Vecchio from behind them. His tension was obvious from the set of his shoulders just as much from the blank expression he always adopted when something had hurt him.

Only Fraser saw the worry and pain in Mrs Vecchio’s eyes when she looked at her son.

Standing full under the lamp, artifice stripped away, it became clear just how tired Vecchio was, and for how long he had been that way, his eyes sunken and brown shadowed. The brutal attacks on the elderly inmates whose homes had been robbed had caused him considerable distress and he had put a lot of private time into solving the case. He was so good at deflecting attention from his actions with his complaints and sarcasm that it was easy to overlook how much he did for others. Ray gave so freely of himself that it was too easy to take him for granted.

As he had been guilty of doing.

“Leave it, he says,” Mrs Vecchio scoffed, probing the forbidden subject as if it was a sore tooth which had just stopped aching. “I’d like nothing better than to forget, but look at the state of you. Ever since that night - ”

“Enough,” said Vecchio. While he did not raise his voice there was a note in it which made Mrs Vecchio fall silent, her mouth compressed.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Fraser hunched his shoulders and tried to make himself invisible, too embarrassed and ill-at-ease to absorb the clue he had just been given.

The uncomfortable silence showed signs of reaching ridiculous proportions when it was broken but a series of loud sounds not commonly heard in polite society.

His tension needing some release Vecchio’s shoulders were shaking slightly as he glanced at Fraser, whose shrug disclaimed responsibility. Both men were careful not to do so much as glance in Mrs Vecchio’s direction. Accidents could happen in the best regulated of families. A sulphurous odor spread out from the center of the room.

Mrs Vecchio bent to peer under the table. “Diefenbaker,” she said, in a tone so reproachful that even Fraser gave an uninhibited grin. Ray had to cling to Fraser’s shoulder for support because he was laughing so hard.

With a stately dignity which made the moment even more comic the wolf padded away from the scene of the crime.

And so the tension was broken - for the moment.

 

After that it was easier, uncomfortable emotions tucked away out of sight as Mrs Vecchio drew the two men into the preparations for their evening meal. While she scolded Ray in almost every other sentence, she had kissed him twice and was constantly touching him, attentions which Vecchio bore with the patience of one so accustomed to them that he barely noticed.

By now Fraser had begun to pay Vecchio more attention himself, ashamed that he should have missed the signs which must have been under his nose for weeks.

“What is this?” Vecchio complained, only partially joking as he looked up from where he was sweating onions to find two pairs of eyes boring into him.

“You’re letting those onions burn. Give that to me and go pour yourself a glass of wine. Benny can see to the pesto for me.” Mrs Vecchio gave Fraser’s broad shoulders an affectionate, if puzzled, look. He was a good boy, even if he needed to learn how to unbend.

“You sure you got no Italian blood, Benny?” she asked.

Busy plucking more basil leaves from the plant pot she had handed him, Fraser looked up. He was more relaxed now he had something to do.

“I’m positive, Mrs Vecchio. My genealogy is easily traced back through my father’s - ”

“Enough with the family history, Benny. That basil’s fine. Get pestling,” commanded Vecchio, taking the plant pot from him.

“Ray, I don’t believe there is any such word as - ”

“Just grind, Benny. I’d kind of like to eat in the next hour or so.”

“Raymond!”

“Sorry, Ma,” he said automatically.

“Huh! You should be sleeping. You look tired.”

“Thanks, Ma. That’s all I needed to hear. I will. After I eat. I promise.”

“You see that you do,” she scolded, patting his torso as she did so.

Left to his own devices once more, Vecchio draped himself against a closet door and watched the man everyone on the squad, including himself, had come to regard as his unofficial partner.

Home-made pesto not something he had ever attempted to tackle in his years of cooking for himself, Fraser was gingerly holding the marble pestle and mortar, a lost look on his face. While the principle was simple enough he was not sure of the technique required. Wearing an expression more suited to some act of unassuming heroism, Fraser applied the pestle with force enough to shoot the soft pine nuts halfway across the kitchen. Diefenbaker surreptitiously began to dispose of the evidence.

Taking pity on Fraser, Vecchio refilled the mortar and unobtrusively demonstrated the gentle wrist action which was all that was required. Resuming his post, he watched Fraser grind pine nuts, garlic and salt to an aromatic paste. By this time Fraser had folded up his shirt sleeves and Vecchio’s heavy-lidded gaze followed the flex and contraction of the muscles in the lightly tanned bare forearms. Of its own accord his gaze drifted down the muscular back to the neat ass and strong thighs. Exhaling on an unconscious sigh of longing, Vecchio absently peeled and chewed a fat clove of raw garlic.

“Raymondo!”

He gave a hoarse yelp when his knuckles received a stinging rap from the heavy wooden spoon his mother was holding.

“Is it any wonder you’ve never remarried?” she scolded. “How can you expect to find a nice girl and settle down? Who wants to kiss a guy who stinks of garlic, huh?”

“Sorry, Ma. I forgot,” he said lamely.

“You forgot. Inscribed on your tombstone will be the words ‘I forgot’.” Continuing to mutter dire predictions under her breath Mrs Vecchio busied herself with one of her specialities, home-made meat balls.

Silently handing Vecchio the pestle and mortar, Fraser peeled and bit into a clove of garlic. His nose wrinkled with distaste as he took the first bite but eventually it was swallowed. Only then did he look at Vecchio, who was staring at him with his heart in his tired eyes.

Fraser gave him a long, steady look before a rare, warm grin of uncomplicated happiness lit his tired face. Their fingers brushed when he took back the pestle and mortar. Even though they stood about a foot apart, they seemed to be touching.

A forgotten spectator where she stood by the stove, whatever Mrs Vecchio had been about to say slid away. Her eyes wide as saucers, the wooden spoon drooping in her grasp, olive oil dripped unnoticed to the floor, where a small pool formed. Still she did not move, almost afraid to breathe in case she drew attention to herself as her gaze moved between her much loved son and his strange but handsome friend.

This wasn’t what she had wanted for Ray.

There again, who would be good enough for him? The girls he had been out with? Trollops. Not that he had ever brought any of them home. And in her heart of hearts, where the darkest secrets lay, she had been glad because if Ray had settled down she would have had to hand over the running of the house to Ray’s new wife. But he had never found anyone special enough to bring home with him.

Except Benny.

She should have suspected the truth when Ray had bought the Mountie home with him that first time. But why would she? Her Ray had never looked at another man - as far as she knew.

Surely she should have suspected that Ray was gay before today? she thought, worrying about her failings as a mother. It was meant to be something you could tell straight off, wasn’t it?

It belatedly occurred to her that this was a subject about which she knew very little. Certainly nothing except what she had seen on TV - except for those rumors about Great-Uncle Mario. How could you tell? *Could* you tell? Was Raymondo gay? How could he be, after all, he had been married and while Lord knows they’d had their problems, she knew from what she’d heard that bitch telling her friend on the phone, the sexual side had been... She shouldn’t have listened. It was kind of... Still a stud was better than...

Ray liked women. He’d wanted several, had lusted after them. What was the word for a man who...? Bi-sexual. That was it. Her Raymondo was bi-sexual.

She tested the words several times but they still seemed strange to her, making Ray a stranger.

She would have to get a book, read up on it.

And this AIDS thing. There must be a phone number she could ring. Someone who could explain the how and whys of that. Tomorrow she would do her research so she would know what to worry about the most.

Uncertain and afraid of what the future might hold for her son, Mrs Vecchio’s eyes filled with involuntary tears when Ray lifted his head and she recognized the expression on his unguarded face. Her Raymondo in love...

Maybe the book and the phone calls could wait, she mused, concentrating on the glow in his eyes.

Like it or not, she had a Mountie in the family.

And a wolf, she remember, looking down to discover Diefenbaker sitting at her side, watching her. She touched the top of his head lightly with the tips of her fingers - the first caress he had permitted - and gave him a watery smile.

“It’s all right, Dief. You can go back to sleep. He’ll be safe enough here.”

“Did you say something, Mrs Vecchio?” asked Fraser, turning around. The acuity of his senses dulled by an unaccustomed intake of raw garlic, he had missed the early warning signs. The wisp of smoke alerted him.

“Ray?”

Roused from whatever had been preoccupying him, Vecchio reacted at once. “Ma, the meatballs are burning and there’s oil dripping all over the floor. Hey, what’s up? You OK, Ma? Here, sit. Take this.” Crouching beside her, rubbing her shoulder in a helpless kind of way,Vecchio thrust his handkerchief at her, worry on his face.

“Of course I’m all right,” she told him in a cross voice. “All this fuss because I get an eyelash in my eye and make it water. This handkerchief. It’s a disgrace. What have you been doing with it?”

Vecchio twitched it out of her grasp to study the stains with a puzzled frown. “Damned if I know. Benny’s your man for stains. Here, Fraser. Check this out while I clean up the floor. Oh, keep an eye on those meatballs while you’re at it. I caught them just in time. Ma, drink this wine. Eyelash or not, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“The stains are shoe polish, Ray. Brown shoe polish.”

“That’s a relief. Yeuch! Do you have to lick everything you identify?”

“Pretty much.”

“Gross,” shuddered Vecchio, getting out the mop and pail.

Fraser took them from him. “You see to the meatballs, I will see to the floor. Cooking isn’t one of my strong points.”

“True, but I never thought you’d admit it. It’s kind of comforting to know there’s something Mounties can’t do. Ma, sit back down and criticize. I’ve been cooking spaghetti since I was tall enough to see over the edge of the stove, remember?”

“How could I forget?” she murmured fondly.

Sipping wine from what she realized was Ray’s glass, she concentrated on the rich, rough-edged velvet of the wine rather than the jumble of her thoughts and the confusion of her emotions. But her mind refused to quiet, chasing round and round like a dog trying to gnaw its own tail. The analogy making her uncomfortable, she went back to watching the two men as they worked around one another. She noticed how often they found excuses for physical contact, something she doubted if they were even aware of doing.

Pouring herself another glass of wine, she frowned when she realized something wasn’t right between them, although she couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong. She decided to take charge.

“You’ll find more wine in that cupboard over there, Benny,” she said. “Open another bottle. We should celebrate tonight.”

The two men exchanged a wary glance before looking at her as if waiting for the ax to fall.

“It isn’t every day the family eats together,” she said lamely, losing her nerve. Ridiculous, she scolded herself. Someone had to something. It was obvious Ray had no intention of doing so and, in the circumstances, Benny couldn’t.

“I was thinking, Ray,” she continued staunchly, hoping that if she battled on for long enough one of them would be able to broach the subject in a more direct fashion. “Some day you’ll want a place of your own again. Another apartment, maybe. Where you can be private.”

“Sure, Ma. One day.”

“Why delay? We’re none of us getting any younger. You could sell this house and - ”

That gaining his attention, Vecchio’s searching gaze was the one he usually reserved for suspects. “Are you sure you’re OK, Ma?”

Mrs Vecchio gave a resigned smile and shook her head at him. “Do I have to be sick before I remember my son is a man, with a man’s needs?” Not that she did remember often enough, she reminded herself as she gestured to the chair on the opposite side of the table. “Benton, come, sit. No, take that chair. Where I can see your face. That’s better. Now, I don’t expect Ray to confide in me, I’m only his mother who gave him life. But you. I would have thought you would tell me.”

About to try and bluff his way through this, Vecchio gave an inward groan when he saw that Fraser was wearing his stranded fish expression, assumed on those rare occasions when he did not know what to do.

“Mrs Vecchio,” Fraser managed.

“Benny, tell me the truth,” said Mrs Vecchio, her implacable making any alternative unthinkable.

Vecchio’s groan was audible this time. “Ma, that’s dirty pool. You know Mounties can’t lie.”

Fraser turned in his chair. “Actually, Ray, that isn’t true.”

“Well, you can’t,” Vecchio retorted. “When have you ever lied to me? You can’t even get yourself arrested. Ma, meet the only guy in the world who couldn’t bring himself to steal a packet of Milk Duds.”

“Is that bad?” Mrs Vecchio asked, not for the first time failing to make sense of one of her son’s conversations.

“No, Ray is trying to change the subject. As I was,” confessed Fraser, his fingers knotting where they rested on the table top.

“And what subject would that be?” she asked, tart because from the fuss Ray was making about telling her anyone would thing she was an ogre.

“It’s all right, Benny. I’ll handle this.” His voice flat and lifeless, the walls were up behind Vecchio’s eyes as he prepared himself for the worst.

Mrs Vecchio’s heart contracted at this too poignant reminder of how Ray had looked twenty-five years ago, steeling himself to be the man of the family during his father’s prolonged absences down at the pool hall with the guys. Or the night of the famous camping trip out in the yard. Ray had never mentioned that plan again after his father had let him down. Not even to her, tucking the hurt away the way he always did. He’d had to handle too much, too soon, the habit of taking responsibility for his family ingrained before he attained manhood. The least she could do now was lighten his load. She could decide what she really felt about things later.

“You’ll do no such thing,” she told her son briskly. “Unless Benny is ashamed of loving you.”

“Ma!” squawked Vecchio, pink with mortification. Doubt and hope mingled in his eyes as he glanced at his lover.

His attention fixed on Mrs Vecchio, Fraser did not notice. “Never,” he said with flat conviction. “But Ray was concerned that you might not... Your good opinion means a great deal to him.”

“He worries too much.” Reaching up, Mrs Vecchio clasped her son by the arm and tugged until he bent down low enough for her to kiss his cheek before she pushed him away again. “You smell like a pole cat,” she told him fondly. “Go shower while I get to know the new member of the family better. Don’t look so worried. I won’t embarrass him with the pictures of you naked on that fur rug we used to have before the moths ate it.”

“I was six months old,” protested Vecchio, but the effort he was making showed.

“What’s this about a new family member, Ma?” asked Francesca as she appeared in the kitchen doorway, unhooking the earpieces from her Walkman. “Isn’t dinner ready yet? ‘Lo, Benny. Ray, can I borrow you car tomorrow night?”

“You know better than to ask your brother,” scolded Mrs Vecchio.

“But Ma...”

“You heard me. Not another word. If you have nothing better to do you can make up your brother’s bed with clean linen. Oh, and fresh towels - for two. The good ones.”

“Me wait on Ray. Is this some kind of a joke?” asked Francesca incredulously.

“Do you see me smiling?” Mrs Vecchio retorted. “Would it hurt to make yourself useful for once? Never mind, I’ll see to it.” Tsking under her breath, she shook her had. “Popping gum is no way for a lady to behave. And that - I can’t call it a skirt - is a disgrace. Just because you’ve got nice legs there’s no call to show them to the world.”

Francesca ignored her mother’s more embarrassing comments with the ease of long practice. “What’s all this with your room, Ray?”

“Ray’s lover is staying the night,” said Mrs Vecchio, finding the words easier to say than she had expecting.

Francesca’s jaw dropped so low that her gum was in danger of falling out her mouth. “L-lover,” she stuttered large-eyed, this not a word commonly heard in the Vecchio household. “Ma, are you yankin’ my chain?”

“No need to ask who you learnt that expression from,” sniffed Mrs Vecchio with disapproval.

“It’s all right, Ma. Leave this to me. She’s not joking, Fran,” added Ray, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Right.” Francesca looked around the kitchen. “OK, so you’ve finally gotten yourself a new girl. Where are you hiding her?”

“What makes you suppose it has to be a woman?” snapped Mrs Vecchio, springing into the attack because she had seen Ray flinch. While he would never admit it, his little sister’s good opinion meant a lot to him.

“Give me a break, Ma.”

“I’m telling you, Ray’s lover isn’t a woman. In fact he’s - he’s - ”

“I am Ray’s lover,” interjected Fraser. He made the announcement partly to be helpful but mainly because he wanted to get the news out the way. Mrs Vecchio was obviously finding the subject difficult to discuss; Ray would find it impossible. If Ray had not been able to contemplate the idea that his younger sister might possibly have a sex life, he certainly would not be able to discuss his own more unorthodox choice of partner with her. In fact, after this evening Ray would probably be impotent for a month. At best.

Side-tracked because he could not immediately place what had changed in the room, Fraser glanced around before light dawned. Mildly perplexed, he raised himself slightly on the chair seat to peer over the table, where Francesca seemed to have disappeared from sight. He yelped, in surprise as much as pain, when his knuckles received a sharp rap from a wooden spoon.

“Well, don’t just sit there,” scolded Mrs Vecchio. “Pick your new sister off the floor.”

 

Snug in bed in the too warm room with its somber furniture which must have been in fashion fifty years ago, Fraser folded his hands over his midriff and reminded himself that in Ray’s home he could not ask for the window to be opened.

“I thought it all went rather well,” he remarked, with more hope than expectation.

“Figures,” said Vecchio. Occupying his half of the bed, he also had his hands folded over his midriff.

It was as if they had decided that if death should come for them in the night they would be prepared for it.

“I know this is a little earlier than you’re used to for preparing for sleep,” remarked Fraser, saying the first thing which came into his head because he was desperate to keep some kind of communication going.

“Yeah. Nine thirty is kinda early for me.”

His face defensively set in an expression of bland endurance, Fraser stared up at the ceiling. Achingly conscious of the other man’s warmth and the scent of his soap and shampoo, he felt uncertain, ill-at-ease and alone. He searched for something else to say that might bridge the gap which he could sense was widening between them at an ever-increasing rate.

There were some small shifting sounds beside him.

“You figure Dief will be OK sleeping with Ma?” said Vecchio into the darkness. His tone was the more familiar abrasion over warmth.

Heartened, Fraser rolled onto his side so he could see his companion in the light coming through the windows where the drapes had not been completely pulled over. Outside a blizzard was raging, the wind howling around the corners of the house. He definitely couldn’t ask for a window to be opened.

“I do not believe that is what you intended to say, Ray.”

“Of course it - ”

“Bestiality?”

“Ah, those animal passions. You could be right,” Vecchio conceded, beginning to relax.

“Diefenbaker will be fine. You’re not worried about your mother?” Fraser checked.

“Ma? I’d back her against a pack of wolves any day.”

Sitting up, relieved that he could abandon the pretense that he could sleep at this hour, Vecchio pummeled some pillows into submission and made himself comfortable against that backrest. Fatigue dragging at his eyelids and making rational thought difficult, he was too wired to be able to sleep. Glancing down, he met Fraser’s uncertain gaze and held out his arm in silent invitation.

Within seconds Fraser was settled a little further down the mattress, his head propped against Vecchio’s bony shoulder with Vecchio’s arm draped over his rib cage. While the embrace wasn’t physically comfortable, it was wonderfully reassuring.

“I can’t figure out why you wouldn’t let Dief stay in here with us,” mused Vecchio, his mouth brushing Fraser’s dark hair where he had just kissed the top of Fraser’s head. “Ma wouldn’t have minded and it wouldn’t have bothered me. It’s not like he watches us or anything. When we do it, I mean.”

Fraser craned his neck to look up. “He doesn’t?”

“Of course he doesn’t! What it is with you? You think Dief’s a pervert?”

“No, but when I was with...” Fraser stopped.

Vecchio lifted his head to enable his companion to move if he chose. “Victoria?” he hazarded.

For a space of a few seconds there was silence. Since becoming lovers they had never spoken of Victoria, even obliquely, as if that mind-wipe could eradicate the shadow she still cast over their lives.

Fraser concentrated on plucking non-existent fluff from the cover. “I had to put Dief out of the apartment when she and I were... He kept trying to get between us.” There was a faint quiver in his voice. In retrospect the scene had been quite funny, even if Victoria hadn’t thought so. Nor had he, at the time. With Victoria nothing had been permitted to smear the gloss of their fairy-tale romance.

“Yeah? I always said that mutt was smart.”

“Smarter than me, you mean?” asked Fraser.

Vecchio nudged the set of Fraser’s jaw with his knuckles in a gesture in which reassurance and possessiveness were combined. “You love her, Dief doesn’t. Smart doesn’t enter into it where love’s concerned.”

Dislodging Vecchio’s arm, Fraser leant sideways to switch on the bedside light because something in Ray’s voice bothered him.

Squinting, Vecchio shaded his eyes against the glare. “What did you go and do that for?”

“What I have to say isn’t easy. I thought it might help if we could see each other.” Fraser was miserably aware that, yet again, he had got it wrong.

Vecchio had visibly tensed, the muscles in his jaw jumping. “Yeah? You’d best just say it then.” The abrasive attack-before-you’re slaughtered edge left his voice, his expression softening when he saw the wariness on his companion’s face. “It’s all right, Benny. Sorry about the knee-jerk reaction to Victoria’s name. We should have talked this through a while back. Certainly before I decided to put you on the spot with the family the way I did tonight. Say what you need to. It’ll be all right.”

Even the warm glow cast by the bedside lamp could not disguise the fact that Vecchio was pale with nerves. His eyes dark, he continued to meet his companion’s gaze in a bluff that denied any cost to what he had just said.

Fraser felt his heart twist. This was love, he recognized. The throw-away remark which not only set you free but which gave you absolution, whatever the cost to the giver.

“I hope so, Ray. It’s what I want, more than anything.” His voice quiet, he could not bear to look at Vecchio’s face again in case he said something to destroy this chance he had been given to persuade Ray to open up to him. But first he must prepare the ground - with things that should have been said months ago.

It proved harder than he had anticipated to get started. Now, as then, cowardice kept him silent.

“It’s all right, Benny. You don’t have to do this,” said Vecchio, braced for whatever he was going to hear.

“I do. So we can move on. I did love Victoria. I think a part of me always will. She wasn’t my first lover, of course, but she was the first person I ever felt so much for. I hadn’t expected it to be so all-consuming. Those hours she and I spent together, keeping one another alive... I can’t begin to explain the intensity of our emotions. Only now can I understand that they weren’t real - any more than the hours she and I spent together in my apartment were real. While I thought we were making love she was plotting the final strands of her revenge on me - and you, the moment she realized your importance in my life.”

“Don’t get carried away, Benny. She hardly knew my name.”

While Vecchio’s face was in the shadows and his voice was subdued, Fraser too hope from the comforting presence of the warm hand which was sliding up and down his forearm.

“She knew you were important enough for me to go chasing after you down the street, half-naked in sub-zero temperatures. No one does that for a casual acquaintance. I handed you to her on a plate.” Self-contempt harshened Fraser’s voice.

“If you start blaming yourself for that you’ll fall back into the trap she set for you,” Vecchio pointed out quietly. “Whatever happened, the emotions you felt were real to you. That’s all that counts here.”

“That’s what made it so difficult to face the truth.” Fraser’s voice dropped as he remembered the wonder and the pain of it. The sense of being both more and less than he was. “Loving Victoria made me feel as if I ...belonged. She... It stopped me from feeling an outsider from the world around me. I wanted to belong so much that I turned a romantic episode into a great passion. It was all wonderfully, tragically romantic but it was a fantasy. The perfect fantasy because I told myself this one was real.”

Fraser drew in his breath before releasing it softly. “It wasn’t, of course. If I hadn’t turned her over to the authorities my feelings would have faded and died a natural death. As it was...” He gave a rueful shrug. “Guilt is a powerful emotion.”

Abruptly the hand cradling the curve of his shoulder tightened to the point of pain.

“Tell me about it.” Vecchio’s voice was heavy with the burden he still carried because he had refused to share it with anyone.

Swinging around, Fraser caught hold of him. “When are you going to stop blaming yourself for shooting me?” Staring into wounded hazel eyes, he made a soft sound, cradling the back of Vecchio’s head in his palm.

Vecchio shook free of the touch. “When I can be certain in my own mind that I really believed she was holding a gun on you. See, me, I don’t know, Benny. I know what I’d like to believe. The comfortable stuff. The truth isn’t so easy.”

“It never is. Tell me now, Ray. Trust me,” urged Fraser, suddenly, inexplicably urgent because he felt that this might be the last chance they had before the invisible wall that was forming between them blocked off any hope of communication.

Vecchio took a shuddering breath and began to speak even faster than usual, his voice harsh with emotion.

“By the time it all fell apart I was really pissed with you, believe me. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I shot you. Because under that anger I was jealous. As jealous as hell.”

Shrugging free from Fraser’s light grasp Vecchio abruptly left the bed to pace the room, as if finding it too confining. His pale blue and maroon striped pyjamas hung from his bony shoulders and he had to pause to hitch up the bottoms, which were threatening to slid down. In the months since he had been shot saving the man behind him Vecchio’s weight had noticeably dropped; he had always been on the lean side, now he was approaching skinny.

Slithering down the mattress, Fraser vaulted over the wooden foot board and into the other man’s path. Grasping Vecchio by the shoulders he gave him a shake; it was not as gentle as it might have been.

“If you can’t be certain, let me be sure for you,” he said, his unwavering gaze locked on Vecchio’s, compelling him to listen. “I know I hurt you. I know I shut you out. And I know that you knew I was going to jump bail and go with Victoria. You would have lost everything. Because of me. Because I let you down in every way possible. But you wouldn’t have shot me because of that. You wouldn’t have shot Victoria either. Not without good reason - like believing she was still armed with the gun she had just fired across a crowded station concourse.”

Fraser slid one hand up to cradle the back of Vecchio’s head as if it was the most precious thing he had ever held. “Wishes aren’t actions, Ray. I understand why you might have wished I was dead. Just for a split second. In the circumstances, given the way I betrayed our friendship more than once, it’s understandable. But you have to learn to forgive yourself. I wish it had been anyone but you who shot me - but only because they wouldn’t be hurting so much. I survived. We survived. Or we will if you can put the shooting behind you. So we can move on.” By this time he was pressing into Vecchio’s body, molding them together. His voice softened, changing in tone.

“I want us to be able to move on, Ray. I need you in my life. I want you to need me.

“I wish there was some new way to say this! he burst out in frustration. “I’m not good with word. But I do love you. In every way I know - and a few I’m still learning.” His voice dropped, the pupils of his eyes expanding. “And I want you so much I ache with it.”

It was the first time either of them had spoken of love.

Vecchio seemed to have stopped breathing.

With the sense not to wait for the man frozen beside him to respond, Fraser resorted to a tried and tested means of getting Ray’s attention; only this time he lacked his previous confidence. As nervous and uncertain as if this was the first time they had kissed, he brushed Vecchio’s set mouth with his own. Ray’s lips were cold but gradually they relaxed, softening to respond with an equal diffidence. It was then that Fraser tasted salt.

“Ray,” he choked, sliding his strong arms around his lover to offer whatever comfort it was in his power to provide. “Let it go,” he urged. “Let all the pain out. Trust me to keep you safe.”

It seemed the last straw that Ray should fight so hard not to betray this moment of vulnerability in front of him. But if Ray didn’t surrender, sooner or later he would break.

Fraser knew from the Lieutenant that Ray had refused all but the obligatory period of counseling after the shooting. It was not surprising. A born giver, Ray did not share his bad times, only the good. While he would lend his strength to others, he wasn’t used to them offering him emotional support. So he had hidden his pain behind the bright, brash exterior which was the act he thought everyone expected of him.

Murmuring clumsy encouragement to his lover, shocked by the tension in the rigid figure he held, it belatedly occurred to Fraser that Vecchio might believe that even he expected that act. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of serious discussions he and Ray had ever shared. Almost from their first meeting they had fallen into a bantering form of exchange which had suited them more than they had been prepared to acknowledge. He had thought they communicated all that was most important on a sub-vocal level. He had obviously been over-optimistic - or a coward.  
His hand spread wide in the center of Vecchio’s back, Fraser felt the shudder which seemed to drag up from Ray’s toes. Fighting the inevitable, the ripples running through Vecchio intensified until, with a harsh, lost sound of desolation, he began to cry in an awkward, unpracticed sort of way.

Wrapping his arms even tighter around him, Fraser held his partner in a warm embrace and refused to let go as the storm broke around them.

oOo

 

“It’s lucky Dief wasn’t sharing this room last night after all,” remarked Vecchio. His manner was one of would-be nonchalance because he still felt self-conscious, although ten hours of sleep uninterrupted by nightmares had helped him take a more balanced view. “I wouldn’t like to embarrass him.”

Undeceived, Fraser propped his head on one hand as he leant up from the pillows. Reaching out, he touched Vecchio’s cheek with a crooked finger. Ray’s bones were a pleasing shape under his skin, the rough lurking beneath the smooth no matter how closely or how often he shaved.

“You can’t embarrass a wolf, Ray. Only humans. Even when - as is the case now - there is no cause for embarrassment.”

“No cause!” His mouth compressing, Vecchio fell silent.

“No cause,” repeated Fraser, refusing to back down. Ray was an emotional man and he didn’t usually try to deny it. “No, don’t interrupt. Why should the fact I have seen you weeping disturb you? I could understand if we were strangers but we have shared so much.”

Unconvinced, Vecchio glared at him. “When was the last time you cried in my arms?”

Fraser pushed himself into a sitting position and gave a wry grimace before his hands parted in surrender. “Last night. While I held you,” he added without artifice or elaboration.

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh’ mimicked Fraser. “Only last night... Last night I didn’t feel alone. Last night I felt needed and loved and...honored. So would you please stop being so... I’d like the Ray Vecchio I know and love back.”

A thaw was already beginning in Vecchio’s eyes. “Get outta here,” he growled, managing to sound gruff and shy in the same breath.

“I need to say something else,” Fraser added, clumsy because it mattered so much.  
“You’re very talkative this morning,” said Vecchio, his finger tips drifting over Fraser’s short hair. “OK, I’m listening.”

“What we have. It has to be a two-way thing. Give and take. Not just me taking all the time.”

“You don’t,” denied Vecchio.

“No? It feels like it some times. There was a period when I believed... I thought Victoria was my conduit to the world. How wrong can you get? Besides, I already had one. Only I took you for granted. Until you threw yourself in front of that bullet meant for me.” Fraser had pressed all emotion from his voice but the pain in his eyes betrayed his true feelings.

Hardly knowing what he did Vecchio cupped one shoulder, his thumb caressing muscle and sinew under the smooth skin.

Fraser sighed. “It didn’t take me long to realize that had been your penance. You believed you needed to make reparation for shooting me. Instead of setting you straight the moment you were out of surgery I kept silent.”

“I don’t believe I’m hearing this.” There was a glorious familiarity to Vecchio’s voice by this time.

“Then I’ll say it again in simple terms. If you ever do anything so stupid and foolhardy again it’s probable that I’ll beat you bloody,” Fraser said in a level voice. His unusual severity was flatly convincing.

A smile dawned in Vecchio’s eyes, spreading to warm his entire face. “You mean that, don’t you,” he recognized.

“Believe it. And the rest. Had I been fit enough to accomplish it at the time, it would have given me the greatest pleasure to strike you - with all my strength.”

Vecchio rubbed the small of Fraser’s back. “I know, Benny. I know. And trust me, I won’t be making a habit of it.”

Fraser blinked several times before his expression began to thaw, although he had yet to smile. “Extraordinary,” he said. “I have never felt like that before.”

“Me neither. I’ve been feeling so mixed up. This is like... Coming home. I don’t believe I’m saying this. To a Mountie of all people.”

“What is wrong with the Mounted Police?”

“How long a list would you list?” Easing Fraser onto the mattress, Vecchio leant up over him.

Fraser slipped a hand inside the baggy pyjamas. “More than you’re offering right now,” he said with decision, pulling gently on Vecchio’s beginning-to-harden cock.

“Do I have to do all the work myself?” Vecchio asked plaintively.

“I have never seen you masturbate.” His eyes widening with speculation, Fraser’s pupils were velvety with lust.

“You will. But not this morning. Given a choice between you and my right hand...”

“I don’t believe I could sit by and resist touching you,” Fraser confessed ruefully. “Over recent weeks I have been suffering from this compulsion to touch you.”

“Suffering?”

“Dreadfully.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Vecchio’s breathing halted for a moment, his eyes sliding to a close as he tried to maintain a semblance of control. “You’re getting real good at this, Benny.”

While Fraser might have a number of inhibitions, none of the ones Vecchio knew about were connected to sex. Ready to try anything, Fraser was vocal in his enjoyment and inventive in his suggestions. So inventive that Vecchio had begun to wonder if there wasn’t something to be said for wondering in the wilderness after all. With nothing but sex to think about...

“I’ve always been a quick study,” said Fraser, all his concentration given to holding Ray’s full attention. “Also, you are an excellent teacher.”

“We’re learning from each other, Benny.”

“I know. It’s very...satisfying.”

“That makes me sound like a bowl of breakfast cereal. Vecchio flakes...” His breath stuttered. “Ah. Keep doin’ that and it’ll be over before we get started.

“You didn’t have to stopped completely,” Vecchio complained a few moments later.

“I never thought the day would come when I would find striped pyjamas sexually arousing,” Fraser mused. He slipped open buttons, taking his time because he knew the wait would be worth it. With careful fingers he unsnagged the gold chain holding Ray’s crucifix from the dark hair on his chest, swirling the tip of one finger in its softness.

“Each to his own. You prefer polka dots or paisley?” Vecchio asked, his voice strained because Fraser was sucking his belly button and he was sensitive there.

Lifting his head, Fraser’s eyes were heavy and brilliant with lust. “Naked flesh gets my vote every time.”

“And this from a man who sleeps in red longjohns.”

“Not the nights you stay over,” Fraser reminded him, biting with care at Vecchio’s chin. Ray’s heavy growth of beard made him look a vaguely sinister figure - and as sexy as hell.

“The nights I stay over neither of us gets much sleep. Maybe I should stay over more often.”

“So the novelty can wear off?” asked Fraser, all bland innocence.

“Novelty?” A look of delight crossed Vecchio’s face. “No one’s ever called me a novelty before. Whaddya think?”

“Very novel, Ray. One of a kind.”

“About us spending more time together?”

“I’m in favor. All the time, if you wish. It’s what I’d like most.”

“OK.” Vecchio’s casual air was ruined by the fact his voice was higher than usual.

“Though I don’t know how easy I’ll be to live with,” murmured Fraser as he rubbed a non-existent itch before nerving himself to meet Vecchio’s gaze. “I haven’t lived with anyone since my grandmother.”

“Yeah? You figure I’ll be different?”

“No question about it. My grandmother didn’t have a beard.”

“Sick, Benny. Very sick.”

“It was a cheap gibe,” Fraser admitted. To anyone who knew him he was virtually glowing with happiness. “You’re a better cook, too.”

“Bearing in mind the things you’ve told me about your grandmother’s cooking, that compliment’s not likely to go to my head.”

By this time they were so close their mouths were almost brushing.

Fraser broke first. “If you don’t kiss me - ” he began in a goaded tone.

“What? You’ll do what, Benny? Bet I’ll enjoy - ” Vecchio was given no chance to finish what he had been saying.

On this occasion there was nothing tentative about Fraser’s kiss, just a need so intense that it almost overwhelmed them. Moist and open-mouthed, they fed from each other, tongues stabbing and retreating, stabbing and retreating.

There was little art to their love-making this morning, their need was too fierce. Vecchio’s pyjama bottoms caused a few seconds frustration until they managed to dispose of them, wanting nothing to impede the sensation of flesh on flesh. Skin moving against skin, their cocks held together, they rubbed and thrust and scraped and ground, faces hidden against each other, hands staking possession of every inch of flesh. Remembering where they were just in time they managed to stifle their sounds of joy against each other.

Ray’s weight pinning him to the mattress Fraser had one hand on the back of Vecchio’s neck and the other possessively spread across his rump, which was already displaying the first signs of the bruising inflicted by his over-enthusiastic grip earlier. A faint smile on his face, Fraser was drifting in a contented haze.

“Wow,” croaked Vecchio eventually.

Mouthing Fraser’s left nipple in passing, he shifted his weight to the mattress before he rolled onto his side so they could maintain a minimal contact. Beginning to cool, he hauled the covers back up over them, locking in their mingled scents and body heat.

“Wow?” queried Fraser.

“You want articulate, you’ve come to the wrong place. I’ve left stubble burns along your shoulder.” Vecchio traced the reddened marks with his finger.

“I noticed.” Fraser rasped the stubble on Vecchio’s chin withe the side of his thumb. “I believe the sensation might prove to be quite arousing - if applied elsewhere. My buttocks,” he prompted.

Vecchio’s eyes widened before he gave an audible swallow. “Trust you to have ideas like that when I’m too weak to take advantage of them.”

“Traditional form of Canadian torture,” Fraser assured him. “When you’ve recovered your strength, I’ll be waiting.”

“Wow,” said Vecchio again, noting in a small, detached corner of his brain that Fraser’s hair was still so neat that he looked as if he had just combed it. It all went to confirm that Benny just wasn’t creasing material.

Serene, content and looking as if he didn’t possess a bone in his body, Vecchio lay sprawled across the tangled bedding, frankly dozing. A sound at the door shot him up in a knot of sheet.

“Ma,” he hissed, desperately trying to untangle himself.

“Leave it to me.”

Wonderfully naked, Fraser left the bed. Vecchio knew a moment’s doubt but his companion yanked the spread from the bed, wrapping it so firmly around himself that he looked as if he was wearing a shroud. He opened the door only a few inches and blocked the space with his body so that the room beyond was blocked from her view.

“Morning, Benny.”

“Good morning, Ma’am.”

“You don’t have to be so formal, Benny. There’s no need to be shy with me. I’ve seen a man in pyjamas before.” Her tone was dry.

“I’m sure you have, Ma’am - Mrs Vecchio. It’s me. My grandmother brought me up to be - ”

“That’s all right, Benny. I wasn’t criticizing. I hope you spent a comfortable night?”

His face scrunching with disbelief, Vecchio bit on the pillow to stop himself from laughing, this script one he could have predicted if consulted beforehand.

“And morning,” said Fraser. “Uh, that is... Very comfortable, thank you kindly.”

Without thinking what he was doing he rubbed a sore place on his throat, saw Mrs Vecchio notice and realized what must be causing the smart. It would have been difficult to say which of them was the most embarrassed, particularly now that Mrs Vecchio had realized he was naked beneath the spread.

Flustered, she gave a nervous laugh and tried not to think about what Benny and her son had been doing. Her face felt hot. Uncomfortable at the idea of dwelling on the thought of her son having sex with anyone, her voice was high and tight with nerves.

“I only called to ask is it all right if I let Diefenbaker out into the yard?”

“That will be find, Ma’am - Mrs Vecchio. He knows not to wander in this neighborhood.”

“Good. There’s juice, coffee and hot rolls on this tray. Take your time. There’s a blizzard raging outside, the city has shut down. Drifts everywhere. Lieutenant Welsh phoned. He and the night shift are stuck at the precinct house, so they’re staying on duty. I’d already told him Ray wouldn’t be in because he’s sick. He should never have gone back to work so soon after being shot. You see he rests. Make him eat,” Mrs Vecchio added, suddenly fierce.

“I will, Ma’am,” Fraser said earnestly. He clutched the folds of the spread tight to his throat and tried not to fidget as the scratchy fabric began to irritate sensitive areas further south.

Her face lost all trace of warm cosiness as she studied him with so searching a stare that it was difficult to sustain her gaze, which seemed to seek out all his secrets. Then she nodded and relaxed, her expression returning to lines he recognized.

“You do that, Benny. But remember, hurt Ray, I cut your heart out. Clear?”

Fraser offered a smile free from all shadow. “Very clear, Mrs Vecchio. I would hand you the knife myself. Thank you kindly for the tray.”

Finding herself dismissed, she went back downstairs, where Diefenbaker was keeping a close eye on Francesca to make sure she didn’t try to tease her brother to death.

“Breakfast in bed! I should have brought you home years ago,” marveled Vecchio, who had been returning the bedding so a semblance of order while Fraser was talking to his mother. “Sorry about Ma’s dramatics just now. There must be some Sicilian blood in the family.”

Fraser poured them both coffee. “What made you suppose I minded?”

Disconcerted, Vecchio took a deep swallow of coffee and burnt his mouth, inadvertently spraying himself, the sheets and Fraser with liquid.

“Excluding hospital, the last time I had breakfast in bed I was ten and getting over measles,” he said when all was calm again.

“It’s over-rated,” decided Fraser.

“Measles?”

“Breakfast in bed.”

“That’s because you’re perched on the edge of the mattress, looking like someone’s maiden aunt while you try and keep your knees together. You wanna be a slob, like me. Just lie back against the pillows and enjoy. To humor me?”

Fraser duly arranged himself.

“This is going to be a common ploy of yours over the years, I take it,” he remarked, although he seemed to be bearing up well under the prospect ahead of him.

“Depends if it works or not,” retorted Vecchio with truth. “If I can’t make a slob of you, no one can.”

Fraser thought about it before his gaze slid to his companion. Opening his mouth, Fraser visibly thought the better of whatever he had been about to say.

“You’re learning,” noted Vecchio with approval.

 

Leaving Fraser in the bath, having remembered to remind him to lock the door because the Vecchios had an elastic view of the term ‘privacy’, Vecchio went downstairs to face his family. To his relief no one seemed to be around.

The storm over, the sky was a blue so brilliant it hurt the eyes to look at it and the sunlight was dazzling in the sea of white. Vecchio wondered briefly where the shovels were and whether Diefenbaker could be trained to dig in the right places.

Going through into the kitchen he glimpsed his mother outside in the yard. She was bundled up in so much warm clothing that she had lost all semblance of shape, but she had enough mobility to be able to throw a ball for the bemused looking wolf.

Beginning to relax, Vecchio gave a wry grin. Leave Dief in his mother’s care for a week and he’d be one confused animal. A sound made him turn around. Already know who it must be he did not hurry, this one conversation he had been dreading. He gave a stiff grimace, which was the closest he could come to a grin while he felt so nervous.

“Morning, Ray. I was wondering, can I have a word?” Francesca’s voice was tight with nerves.

“Sure,” he replied with a heartiness which made him give an inner wince. He derived some comfort from realizing he hadn’t seen Fran this scared since the day she’d confessed that she thought Joel Hunch might have knocked her up. Fortunately that had been a false alarm, even if Joe had needed some fancy bridgework after he’d paid him a visit.

“Can we go in the other room? Only there’s no knowing when Ma might come back in.”

Nodding, Vecchio followed his sister through to the dining room and closed the door. There was an eerie silence, the snow muffling the usual street sounds; suddenly the shrill cries of children sliced through the air. Too many years of associating the sound of kids screaming with violence made him hurry to the window to check all was well. He relaxed, smiling, when he saw a bunch of neighborhood kids were tobogganing further up the street on improvised snow sleds.

“Remember the year we took out Ma’s silver tray and used it as a sled?” said Francesca, who had come to stand beside him.

Reminded of his responsibilities, Vecchio let the drapes fall back and turned from the window. He could feel the heat from the old-fashioned radiator burning the back of his thighs. “I remember.” He had suffered the rough edge of his mother’s tongue and his father’s hand for that escapade. Not that Fran or Ma had known about the latter. It hurt to see his sister looking as if she was afraid of him - as if he might be turning into his old man.

“It’s OK, Fran. Say whatever you feel you have to,” he encouraged, his voice gentle as he braced himself for the worst case scenario. The Vecchio family weren’t known for being liberal thinkers.

“I just wanted to say... That is, I thought that, in the circumstances, you might like to know... You remember that night I turned up at Benny’s flat?”

“No!” Vecchio held up his hands, palms outwards. “It stops there, Fran. I don’t want to hear this.”

“Ray, it’s all right. What do you think I am, eh? Besides, nothing happened. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

“I know nothing did,” he said quietly, but the look he gave her was apologetic.

“How come? I know Benny won’t have said anything because I begged him not to.”

His eyes kind, he nudged Francesca’s chin with a gentle fist. “I know because of the kind of guy Benny is. I knew as soon as I’d calmed down after he told me. You’re my kid sister. You don’t mess with the sister of a friend.”

“I thought that maybe it was because the two of you...” She trailed off into silence in an untypical display of delicacy.

“No,” said Ray quietly, before he paused. “Well, not consciously.”

Tension had visibly drained from her slender shoulders. Now, in a reversal of their usual roles, her smile was oddly maternal. “Men!” she scoffed gently, patting his chest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded with indignation. “Don’t forget, you’re talking to a guy who always remembers to put the seat of the john down.”

“It means that for a smart guy you can be real dumb at times. Why d’you suppose I backed off from chasing Benny? He’d never given me a moment’s encouragement, so him turning me down wouldn’t have made any difference. I stopped because when you tackled me about what had gone on between us, I saw that the idea Benny and I might be lovers had hurt you. Not just because of me - though that was part of it, I know. But because of your feelings for Benny. And his for you.”

Vecchio blinked. “What?”

“Come on, Ray. I mean, why would a guy tell his best friend that his kid sister had turned up at his apartment and made a play for him and then refuse to tell you anything else, huh? I’m not saying Benny did it consciously, but he was trying to get your attention. Make you realize what you were missing. Maybe even to make you jealous. Like I said, you can be really dumb sometimes,” she added fondly.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You could have a point,” Vecchio conceded, having thought about it. He wore a pleased smile which, for some reason she did not pretend to understand, made Francesca’s eyes fill.

“Fran?” Vecchio said, looking worried.

She smacked his hand away. “I’m fine.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“It’s a female thing, alright?”

“Hey, this is me, your brother, remember? You might be able to use that line on some other poor sucker but I grew up with two sisters. The mystique of womanhood never had a chance. What is it, sis?”

“This gay thing...”

“Yeah?” While wary, to his surprise Vecchio did not feel in the least embarrassed, just relieved that he could finally be himself with his family.

“Leaving aside the fact you married, I always had you pegged as a guy who liked women. Not just me and Maria but *women*, you know. I don’t really understand what difference you being gay makes.”

“Who to?” he asked, having lost the thread of this conversation some time ago.

“The rest of us, of course. I’m not that dumb. I know how it affects you. That is, I know what the pair of you - Damn it, stop laughing at me, Ray,” she protested, although she had begun to laugh herself. But the punch she aimed at his stomach was not as gentle as it could have been. “What I’m after is... I just need to know. You’ll be careful?”

“You bet,” he said, prompt because he hoped to pre-empt further discussion. Francesca was capable of holding forth on any subject about which she believed herself to be an expert - in short, most subjects.

“And happy?”

“If I’m not, it won’t be Benny’s fault. I’ll be fine, Fran. I promise.”

“Make sure you are,” she told him, suddenly fierce.

When he held out his arms, smiling at her, she hurtled into them as they shared a rare, all-embracing hug.

“You’re too skinny,” he told her gruffly as they drew apart, both looking self-conscious about that display of affection.

“And you’re a nag. You’ve gotten yourself a good man there, Ray. He was so sweet to me that night. Make turning me down seem like a favor, you know? I needed kindness. The divorce... Anyway, there I am, dressed to kill in this black - You don’t need the details. I swear his gaze never dropped lover than my chin. And then he insisted on walking me home. We had to walk because neither of us had a cent and I’d begged him not to call you.”

“Why?” asked Vecchio. He was honestly perplexed given the times Francesca had displayed no compunction about calling him at three in the morning to rescue her from some low life.

“Why?” she echoed with disbelief. “Sometimes I wonder about you. Because I didn’t want you to know I’d tried to come on to him. I’d already got this...excluded feeling. You and Benny had something between you, even then. I swear. I just didn’t recognize what it was.

“Damn!” Francesca stiffened. “Is that Ma’s voice? I’m outta here before she has me in the kitchen doing disgusting things to meat.”

“Go. I’ll stall her.”

“You’re a prince,” she called as she ran up the stairs, disappearing from view as Mrs Vecchio appeared in the lobby.

“Raymondo? You seen your sister? I thought I heard her voice. Only there’s a cow’s tongue waiting to be...”

 

Francesca stepped into Fraser’s path as he crossed the lobby.

“Benny, could I have a word?”

“Of course.” While Fraser believed he knew why she wanted to see him without Ray being around, he did not attempt to prejudge the issue but waited for her to speak.

“I just wanted you to know, I’ve never seen Ray look the way he does this morning. So...content.”

A smile broke through Fraser’s reserve, lighting his face, but still he remained silent.

“I just wanted to say ‘Welcome to the family.’”

“Why, thank you kindly, Francesca.”

“There’s just one thing.”

Fraser nodded his encouragement.

Stepping in close, she glared up at him. “You treat him good, you hear. If you break Ray’s heart, I’ll eat yours. Clear?”

The change from warmth to ferocity was so abrupt that Fraser felt as if he had just been mugged by a jack-rabbit. Bemused, he felt his smile congeal.

“Very clear,” he said, half turning to watch her go. Kipling had certainly know what he was talking about when he said the female of the species was more deadly than the male. When he turned around, Vecchio was standing next to him.

“You figure I’m gonna have to apologize for the entire family because the day’s out?” he said, affection and resignation visible in equal proportions on his face.

“Not on my account. Your family love you very much.”

“Course they do. What’s not to love? Don’t answer that, Benny.”

“Very well, but I was simply pondering...”

Trying to identify the aroma wafting out the kitchen, from where Francesca and Mrs Vecchio could be heard arguing companionably, Vecchio was giving little of his attention to what Fraser was saying.

“What was that?” he asked vaguely.

His smile a private thing which traveled no further than his eyes, Fraser relaxed. “Nothing, Ray. Once we have shoveled the snow from your mother’s steps and drive I thought I might head back to town.”

“You’re supposed to be on vacation for the next week,” Vecchio pointed out as they pulled on warm clothing.

“A Mountie’s work...”

“Oh, please. Damn, but it’s cold,” added Vecchio, as they stepped out into the yard.

Oblivious to Ray’s mutterings when he stepped in a minor snowdrift, Fraser absorbed the transformation which had taken place. The brilliance of the sun transformed the mundane, making everywhere look magical as the icy snow sparkled and glinted in the light, but there was not enough heat in it to melt the icicles above the door. He inhaled deeply. The air smelt different today. More familiar. And there was a wonderful lack of noise because there was so little traffic moving. Not silence, for children were calling out and shrieking their pleasure, adult voices offering a deeper note. Despite the damage to property and inconvenience caused to everyday life by the storm no one was complaining too much. A blizzard was a great leveler, putting life into perspective.

Lost in thought, Fraser jumped, then smiled, when Vecchio slung an arm around him.

“Do you have to look as if you’re having a wonderful time in this crap? Does all this snow make you homesick?” Vecchio added in a different tone.

Nodding, Fraser made no attempt to elucidate.

“Yeah, I remember the Northwest Territories, too.” Something in Vecchio’s voice betrayed that his memories weren’t wholly happy ones.

“You didn’t see it at its best.”

“You’ve got your theory, I’ve got mine. If you want, we could hijack one of the neighborhood kids and steal their snow sled?”

His face relaxing, Fraser shook his head. “You would abuse your position as a police officer?”

“You better believe it. Nah. None of those home-made sleds would hold us. Here, stop trying to look decorative and make yourself useful.” Vecchio thrust a shovel into Fraser’s hand.

When Fraser opened his mouth, Vecchio added, “And spare me the guff about a Mountie’s duty, all right? The reason you can’t wait to get back to work is because you’re afraid we’re gonna be stuck here for a week with ma feeding you five times a day and watching every move we make.”

“It isn’t for myself, Ray. But Dief...” Fraser gestured to the disconsolate looking wolf, who was strapped into a crocheted coat of a lurid shade of mauve.

Vecchio grimaced and waded through the snow to rescue Diefenbaker. “I’ll have word with Ma again,” he promised as he released the final buckle. “Though we should be grateful she hasn’t found him a cute pair of booties to wear.”

Fraser held a finger to Vecchio’s lips.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” sighed Vecchio. “Only it makes me want to kiss you and stuff and I can’t do that here because the neighbors might see us.”

“I don’t mind,” said Fraser placidly, his breath pluming in the still air.

“Me neither, bu old Mrs Harvey would have a fit. She’s hated me since the time I put a ball through her window.”

“When you were a boy?”

“Nah, a couple of weeks ago,” said Vecchio happily, just before he took a direct hit from a snowball.

Useful activities like clearing snow forgotten, a fiercely fought battle commenced.

Diefenbaker pretended to ignore the pair of them.

 

Flushed with excitement and happiness, Fraser drew Vecchio to him in the shadow of the kitchen door to deliver a swift, hard kiss.

“Not fair,” complained Vecchio, his hands expertly circumnavigating bulky over-garments to settle on the other man’s ass. He gave it a friendly squeeze.

“Who said anything about fair? I should leave,” Fraser added conscientiously. “There will undoubtedly be a lot of work to be done, if not at the Consulate, then at the precinct house.”

“Yeah, shoveling idiots out of the snow. I’m supposed to be sick,” Vecchio reminded him, but without much hope.

“I’ll make you well. You could always wait for me at my apartment. We could even buy a television that has sound, if you like. Once I’ve converted this month’s pay check.”

“Why does that have a familiar ring to it?” wondered Vecchio out loud. “I guess I’ll survive missing re-runs of I Love Lucy. And who needs sound when you watch the game? I’m almost used to it now.”

He had already made a number of what he called home improvements to Fraser’s apartment. It now boasted full power, although they still used oil lamps for lighting, Vecchio having supplied so many that there was one on virtually every surface. There were thick, bathsheet sized towels to wear down the corridor to the john, two sets of dishes, because while he wasn’t fussy he’d refused to eat from one of the stainless steel bowls which Diefenbaker might have used the day before, and some decent beer. He had also imported an easy chair, but as Diefenbaker had appropriated that, he and Fraser usually settled themselves on the mattress, their shoulders cushioned by pillows.

“If you’re sure,” Fraser said, looking doubtful.

“Another heater wouldn’t hurt,” said Vecchio, having a sense to negotiate while he was in a strong bargaining position.

Fraser paused.

“Are you saying I’m not worth the price of a heater?” Vecchio demanded in mock outrage.

“That depends how much it costs,” replied Fraser, just before he ducked the swipe aimed in his direction.

oOo

 

Wincing and groaning, Vecchio was vocal in his opinion of the scent of the liniment which had been massaged into his aching back muscles. As he had feared, he had been forced to spend most of the day freezing his butt off in the snow; trudging through it, shoveling it and even falling into it a few times. Prone on the mattress and naked from neck to mid thigh, he was feeling no pain, despite his moaning. Fraser’s skilled massage had left him limber and warm and ready for almost anything. Not that he was prepared to admit as much just yet.

“And why it’s so cold in here?” he finished up. “Here I am, naked and at your mercy and all you can do is freeze my ass off.” His head rose. “The heater isn’t on,” he realized. There was a note of genuine betrayal in his voice.

“I agreed to buy one, not to use it,” Fraser pointed out, although he experienced a twinge of guilt. “Would you like me to put it on now?” He knew better than to expect gratitude because he had closed the window before removing Ray’s clothes.

Vecchio looked doleful. “Nah. The wolf will only start complaining. You can warm me up. Not with the quilt, Benny.” Rolling onto his back, he looked Fraser up and down.

Light dawned.

“Oh,” said Fraser, an anticipatory gleam in his eyes as he settled beside Vecchio.

“Yes, ‘Oh’, ” mocked Vecchio affectionately. His fingers nimbly worked their way down the buttons on the front of Fraser’s long johns. “I never figured the day would come when I’d find unshucking you from those things sexy. Just make sure I don’t have to do anything too energetic.”

“You won’t have to do a thing. Well, hardly anything,” amended Fraser, ever truthful. “Not unless you wanted to, that is.”

Raising himself off the mattress, he gave his full co-operation as the soft, warm fabric was peeled away, Vecchio’s mouth tracing down his chest and belly, pausing to nip the creamy skin just beneath his navel.

His head bowing, Fraser gave a soft sigh of compliance and continued to allow Vecchio to do whatever he wanted with him, although the need to reciprocate was a pleasurable pain by this time - a pleasure to be deferred until he could bear the waiting and the wanting no longer. Kneeling above Vecchio by this time, and naked to mid-thigh, Fraser’s cock had risen with alacrity and was blindly seeking further stimulation; his breathing was visibly disorganized.

“Ah, Benny... I just gotta...”

Vecchio buried his face in the dark bush of hair, nuzzling and licking as he cupped Fraser’s muscular ass.

“Oh, my goodness,” gasped Fraser, clasping Vecchio’s head. “Ray, I can’t think while you’re doing that.”

Vecchio’s head rose, his eyes heavy with sexual heat. “Amazing. You finished, or can I get back to - ?”

“You’re sure you have the energy for this?”

“Benny?”

“Yes, Ray?”

“Shut up and kiss me, OK?”

Fraser cocked his head. “May I let you know whether it was OK after I have kissed you?”

Anything else Fraser may have intended to say was lost when a sorely tried Vecchio surged up and swamped the uncomplaining Mountie, kissing him until they were both dizzy from a lack of oxygen. Surging and rolling together, they offered their hands, their mouths and their love, disjointed sentences confirming what they wanted.

Spread wide over the mattress, slick with gel and quivering with need, Fraser’s hands curled and uncurled over the edges of the pillow as Vecchio fucked him; first slow and easy, then fast and hard, making him cry out loud, triumph in the sound.

Diefenbaker, who had yet to accustom himself to such late nights, turned his back on the pair of them and tried to get some sleep despite the soft sounds which went on between the two men for some time.

THE END


End file.
